


Facade

by cakeengland



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, they literally have a panic attack in lws4, you cannot convince me the commander doesnt have ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeengland/pseuds/cakeengland
Summary: Unwilling to burden their guildmates with their problems, the Commander turns to other methods to cope.





	Facade

Your throat burns. It doesn’t deter you from taking a sip of Elonian wine, depleting the numbing substance.

For a moment, you remain knelt on the floor, appreciating the cool sense of nothing, even as tears prick the corners of your eyes. You’re vaguely aware that you’re trembling all over, that your clothes are soaked with blood, but none of that matters. All that matters is the blissful sensation of not feeling at all.

Your breath, short, sharp gasps, is apparent in the heavy silence that chokes your lungs. Between that and the alcohol, you feel like you’re dying. It’s different to the white hot pain of battle wounds. You decide you prefer it. You’d rather sip the poisoned honey than choke down glass.

Stumbling to your feet, you smack a palm to your forehead as your vision swims, wobbling unsteadily. Hissing a curse, you drag yourself to the sink, fumbling with the cold tap until the basin is filled. The ice cold water wakes you up, sobers you a bit, but doesn’t erase the sweet numbness.

You lift your face after a few long moments, sighing deeply. The soft golden glow bathing the frozen peaks tells you it is dawn, though by now, the days bleed into the nights. The only reason to be aware of the time is for your allies’ benefit.

The warmth of your bed beckons to you, but even through the haze of alcohol, duty and responsibility whisper in your ear. It’s a bitter disappointment, as always; the knowledge you must get up and face the world when all you want to do is curl up and sleep. Still, your guild expects to see their heroic commander, and who are you to deny them that?

“Commander?” It’s Kasmeer. She’s as beautiful as a rose and as sweet as said flower’s scent. You know Marjory would agree. Still, when it came to a fight, she had no reservations about showing her thorns.

You think that if you were to tell any of them about your condition, it would be sweet Kasmeer. But if Kasmeer knew, they would all know, and you refused to burden them with the truth that their commander is little more than a facade. Best to suffer in silence.

“Commander, are you awake?” Lost in reverie, you’d forgotten to reply to the mesmer. In lieu of a hazy answer, you make a small noise. You hope Kas doesn’t notice the choked back tears.

“The others wanted you to know they’re ready to move on whenever.” The concern in her tone tips you off to the fact that she  _ did  _ notice. “Commander, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The lie rises to your lips without hesitation, burning and scarring your throat along the way. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

You hear Kasmeer walk away, and duck your head. A shuddering gasp escapes your bleeding lungs, followed soon after by a torrent of tears. A single truth becomes clear. You are broken beyond repair.

But you’ll continue to be the hero Tyria sees, for that is what they need.


End file.
